Galatea under the Stars
by Alithea
Summary: Stage Door (1937). Takes place after the film. Jean Knows she's been unfair to Terry. Terry knows something about Jean as well. Terry Randall/Jean Maitland Femslash.


Title: Galatea Under the Stars  
>Rating: PG<br>Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.

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><p>It was the timing of everything that kept Jean from liking Terry. When she looked back she realized that it was all the timing, because Terry was everything she generally liked in a girl, a quick wit, smarts, and a sophisticated look she was naturally drawn to. But she'd just had her final blowout with Linda, and Terry waltzed in looking like a carbon copy. It was completely unfair to Terry, because underneath the surface similarities she and Linda were nothing alike. Nothing alike at all.<p>

Linda was all sharp edges, and petty games. She liked attention and affection, and knew what she really wanted. And what Linda wanted was a comfortable understanding with a rich man who wouldn't look too hard at what she did when he wasn't around.

Jean, for a short while, was certainly one of those things Linda occupied herself between wealthy beaus, and Jean didn't like to think she was foolish enough to really fall in love. She liked to, but she was, despite knowing all the rules, because she'd played the game before. Girls like Jean didn't get a happy ending with the one she wanted. Girls like Jean played it cool, and acted like everything was just a game, getting love where they could, and going out on dates with nice reliable men who'd spring for a diner and wouldn't ask for anything in return.

Jean fell right into the dark depths of Linda's banter, that baited and teased her into action. Fell into dark eyes, and hair that was never out of place. Kisses that were just as sharp as Linda's wit, and smiles that Jean mistook for promises. But Linda never promised anything, and when things fell apart between them, they fell in shatters. The banter turned bitter, cut like glass in Jean's mouth, and no one at the boarding house had the nerve to ask what went wrong. They just learned to dodge out of the line of fire when Jean and Linda entered a room.

Now Jean was sharing a room with Terry. Terry who had been triumphant on stage. Terry who Jean had hated, but was warming to despite herself. Terry who also baited Jean with wit and quick quips, but her words never stung.

She sighed and hung up the phone.

"You gotta date," Annie asked.

"Nope, just a friend keeping in touch," Jean replied and headed up the stairs. She paused at the door of her room and watched Terry flip a page on her book.

"Are you coming in, or are you just admiring the statuery?"

Jean smiled and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. "What happened to your moonlight?"

"There was no one to hold my hand, so I settled for Ibsen," Terry stated and put her book down. "You get bad news. That phone call seemed pleasant enough."

"That was just Bill. He likes to keep in touch." She sat down on her bed and lazily reached for a magazine.

Terry looked over at her and then said, "Well, I hardly know what to do with myself."

"Oh?"

"I haven't seen you this serious since...Well, since Kay."

Jean tossed the magazine aside and said, "I can get out my tap shoes and Hamlet if you like."

"That's weak, even for you." She leaned back into her pillow and said, "I wonder."

"Do you?"

"Yes, quite often. It's amazing what that grey matter between your ears will come up with." She smiled and waited, and when there was nothing she said, "It wasn't what you'd thought it would be, was it?"

"What?"

"Getting back at Linda."

Jean tried to glower but shook her head. She was tired. She'd put on a show with Bill. She'd pretended for ages, and she didn't have the will to try a war of words with Terry. She was a little tired of words. "No, it wasn't."

Terry nodded. "I'm surprised you wasted the energy."

"Why are we talking about this?"

"What shall we talk about?" Terry waited for a reply and then stood up and walked over to the window. She turned to look at Jean and said, "You talk in your sleep, you know."

"I do." She stretched out on her bed and shut her eyes. A serious conversation, that's what was happening. A real conversation with no loaded lines, or jokes waiting in the wings. "Hope I didn't wake you."

Terry shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry she hurt you."

Jean shrugged. "I sort of walked into that one. The way Galatea walked into a bad hangover."

"Remember that, do you?"

"Hard to forget." She opened her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry I gave you such a bad time. You just-"

"Don't say it, you might accidentally insult me."

"Couldn't have that, could we?"

"Not the best form," Terry said with a smile. "How'd you like a walk under the stars, Galatea?"

Jean shook her head. "I'd rather not walk past the firing squad downstairs. I'd hate for them to think I was mooning over a phone call from some guy."

Terry moved across the room and sat at the edge of Jean's bed. Jean shifted her position, palms pressed into the mattress as they supported her weight. They sat in silence for a while, and for a moment Jean could almost pretend she wasn't falling into a trap she knew all too well. Witty girls, with sharp tongues, and an elegant air, they pretended to be independent, but in the end wedding bells called them away. Or at the very least the thought of security did. She fought against the jagged warning at the back of her throat.

"What do you want in life, Jean," Terry asked.

"I just want to dance."

"In a show?"

"Anywhere? It's why I'll take a nightclub gig in a heartbeat. Why?"

"Just wondering." Terry looked at Jean, and then leaned forward. "I'd really like to kiss you."

"I'd really like to let you." She sat up a little more.

"Good." Terry closed the distance between them and kissed Jean softly, but deeply.

End.


End file.
